Long Cool Woman
by Mary Sukiyaki
Summary: SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS The widow of Bobby Fulbright recalls the decade she spent with Bobby...and the year she spent with the Phantom.
1. Prologue

It should have been raining when I went to go meet Mr. Wright. It would have created the perfect ambiance—mystery, intrigue, drama, all accentuated by the falling of heavy, merciless yet cleansing rain. But no, it was a perfectly lovely, clear afternoon the day I agreed to meet Mr. Wright at OsakaBaby, a Pan-Japanese greasy-spoon of sorts. I guess a sit-down dinner at a more formal restaurant was out of the question—we had too much to talk about.

I felt like bursting into tears as soon as I laid eyes on Mr. Wright. As soon as we made eye contact, he immediately got up from his booth, made his way across the restaurant while carefully dodging a waiter, and hugged me. He seemed so genuinely happy that I showed up at all. Or he just sensed my anxiety. Or he truly understood the loss. I was just grateful that in that moment, he didn't treat me like a stranger.

"Emily," he said, "I'm really glad you came." He must have recognized me from the newspapers. Which one (or ones), I didn't know. Might have been the Ledger—I finally made the front page…for the worst reason possible.

"I can't imagine how difficult this has been for you and the kids, but you tell—"

"You…you're the only one I can talk to." I looked around—the rather large restaurant was mostly empty, except for three others—a couple laughing over drinks and feeding each other pastries, and a single man deeply engaged in both his udon and his iPhone. Nevertheless, I was unsure.

"Is it safe to talk here?" I whispered. "I mean, does this place get full later on?"

He smiled and led me to his booth, saying, "Don't worry, Emily. This place only fills up on the weekends. It pretty much stays like this on Tuesdays."

"How do they stay in business?" I offered as we both slid into the booth, trying to sound light.

Mr. Wright laughed. "Once Friday afternoon hits, and until closing time on Sunday, you can't get a seat without making a reservation 3 weeks in advance. It's nuts—but it gets even more insane at night. I've come here twice during a weekend, and on each occasion I saw a fight in the line."

"Hah!…Wait, why is there a line?"

"In case any of the reservations don't show up. People will wait until 2am, just waiting for someone else to not show up. It's crazy."

"Well," I said looking out the window, "it's dinner and a show, eh?" Mr. Wright laughed again. I would have rather listened to stories about this dingy hole restaurant and made lame jokes all night than talk about Bobby. But I had to tell him about what happened. I knew I was responsible for what happened 5 days ago. It wasn't just a feeling, and it wasn't wanting to take the blame just for the sake of nailing myself to the proverbial cross—I was responsible for how it all played out in the end. I may not have planted the seed, nor did I water it, but I did not stand in the way of the sun. I allowed it to grow. To mutate. To fester.

The brief laugher between us quickly died down. I turned back to Mr. Wright. I knew the talking had to commence.

"Mr. Wright—"

"Please," he interjected. "Call me Phoenix…how are the children doing now?"

My heart leapt into my throat. "Well, I asked Mrs. Hugot down the street from me to watch Chris and Marty so you and I could talk as long as we needed. In fact, they're staying overnight. She's a lovely woman, she was always so kind to Bobby and I—"

"Emily," Phoenix interjected once again, adding gently, "That's not I asked you."

And with that, I began to cry. I ducked over towards the wall and began to shake, tears loosely running down my face. Phoenix immediately got up from his side of the booth and sat down next to me, and held me tightly. It was like he was trying to squeeze the trembling out of my system.

"I didn't mean to—"

"It's my fault! I'm not the victim that everyone's making me out to be—my kids are the victims! I didn't do my goddamn job as a mother—I didn't take them and get away from that…that thing… until it was too late. I failed them. I scarred them for life, just because I—"

"Can I get you guys something to drink?" Phoenix and I looked up—there was a young waiter standing by the table. I could immediately deduce from both the tone of his question and his posture that he just wanted his shift to end. What was happening between Phoenix and I was not relevant, and certainly not sacred. With every nanosecond that passed, he would tap his receipt book with his pencil and subtly roll his eyes. I liked him immediately.

"I'm sorry," Phoenix said sounding annoyed, "But we're in the middle of—"

"I'll have a coke,"

I interrupted. "Uh," the waiter grunted, "is Pepsi okay?"

"Uh, is Monopoly money okay?" The waiter looked like he was just smacked across the face. I continued,"…Fuck it—I don't want to keep you hostage. I understand that you're doing us this HUGE favor. It's not like you're getting paid for this or anything. I'll have a…" I glanced at the menu for about 1 second. "…bubble tea. Mango flavored."

The waiter, still recovering from the verbal sideswipe, looked helplessly towards Phoenix.

"Uh…sir?" he asked, as if expecting another bitchy retort.

"Just a green tea, buddy," Phoenix said, offering a genuinely sympathetic expression.

After writing both drink orders, the waiter meekly said: "I'll be right back with your drinks. Whenever you're ready to order—NO RUSH—just throw me a signal and I'll be right over."

"Thank you very much," I said, with the sarcasm absent this time. "I appreciate it. And sorry ab—"

"PLEASE—it's all right. I'll be right back with those drinks." And the waiter flew from our booth. As soon as he disappeared behind the counter, Phoenix slid out from my side and slinked back into his original seat. He gazed at me with what seemed like frightened curiosity. In response, I offered the simple truth:

"I think he only became nice to me because he recognized me. If I was anybody else, he would have just told me to go fuck myself, right?"

"You think that's it?" he asked, slightly skeptical.

"Well, I'm the woman who spent a year with a serial killer posing as my husband. According to everyone else, I either aided and abetted the Phantom, or I was too stupid to know the difference. I could either act like a victim, or I could be aggressive. There's no middle ground here. If I act like a victim, I get patted on the head like a retard by some people, and scorned by others for my 'lack of attentiveness'. But if I act aggressive, it scares people away rather than incite them to dish it out as well. I mean, I supposedly went to bed with a yokai. I MUST be fucking crazy."

Phoenix started to say something, but he then pulled back to think. The drinks arrived. The waiter once again gave us the "once you're ready, flag me over" spiel, and then darted to another table. I sipped on the mango bubble tea, pulling up a tapioca ball through the straw. As I chewed the slimy, chewy tapioca, I glanced at Phoenix. He looked frustrated. I swallowed.

"How far," I asked, "do you want me to go back?"

Phoenix's eyes narrowed on mine. "Go back to when you first met Bobby. Tell me anything you can remember."

"Remember?" I gasped. "I'll never forget the day I first met Bobby.

"It was autumn, in the early evening. I had just moved to LA—downtown, to South Park. I was with my friends…well, they were my friends at the time. We had just finished busking for pennies in Santa Monica—we, my friends and I, were in a band, called Sister Cities…I hated the name. We lived together, we played together, and when we were too proud to ask our parents for money, we shoplifted loaves of bread together—everything. We would get incredibly drunk and promise each other, with drunk-maudlin tears in our eyes, that we would never split up. Not because we had some dream of making it in the music industry—we just felt like we needed each other to survive. We were at every emotional, physical, spiritual and economic bottom you could think of, but we had just accepted the way it was. We didn't ask for things to "get better", so to speak—we just gleefully accepted that the fence has two sides. People like you, Phoenix, and Athena and Apollo and believe it or not, Simon, are on one side of that fence. My LA family and I were on the other side, and we wanted to let people like you know that not only were we aware of our caste, but we were both proud and fucking defiant. We were trash not because we were thrown away, but because we volunteered to crawl amongst the garbage…

"I'm sorry, I'm rambling. You wanted to hear about Bobby and I, yes? Well, I guess I'm bringing all that up because all I truly trust right now is that before Bobby, there were all these things and people whom I believed in so deeply, I would have bled for them. But when Bobby came into my life..."

Phoenix leaned forward. "What? What happened when you met Bobby?"

"Oh, well, when I first met Bobby, I thought he was either nuts or just a toady douchebag. A mindless puppet. But...when I…when I finally allowed myself to see Bobby for what he truly was…it's like that quote from the Bible, 'When I was a child, I saw as a child, thought and understood as a child, but when I became a man, I put away childish things and looked through a glass darkly'…he helped me see. And getting me to see the truth saved my life. Bobby saved my life.

"Anyway, it was during autumn in Santa Monica, far away from the pier. I was walking towards the subway with my band. That's when I first laid eyes Bobby Fulbright. I was 22, and he must have been 23."

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Chapter 1

"Not bad. Not too bad at all."

Tony crouched over the open guitar case and collected the dollar bills which accumulated in a loose pile on top of the red, plush lining. Natalie, Lola, Pablo and I surrounded Tony and the case, ensuring his protection as he counted the money on the street.

"20...40...80...83...92 dollars. So, that makes...what Lola?"

"For the whole day? About 400," Lola said.

"About?" Tony said, and pulled a piece of paper from the front pocket of his flannel shirt. I don't know why he wore flannel. It may have been autumn, but it was still pretty goddamn warm. Even the lily I had pinned behind my ear only an hour ago had begun to wilt. He handed the cash to Natalie, who rolled it carefully and tightly in her hands.

With a pen, he added the amount to what we had already earned. "518."

"Are you serious?" I said in disbelief. "That's fuckin' amazing!"

"Well," Tony sighed, "We lucked out today-remember the tourism guys?"

We all nodded. The Santa Monica tourism board was running around near the boulevard, and decided to film a bit of us, and since everyone in California wants to be in front of the camera, they flocked to us and threw money at us. Too bad that they'll only use about a nanosecond of that footage. I hope they just show the kid who was pushed into the front to throw a dollar. She looked terrified walking up to us-she couldn't have been older than 3. But as soon as she threw it in, she looked up at me and smiled. I could have died right then and there.

"It might be good exposure," Natalie said, cheerfully. Pablo shook his head.

"They're not going to include our music. They probably have some stock music that they put behind us and the goddamn ferris wheel."

"That," I added, "and we're probably gonna get one second on the commercial...if they actually pick us." Natalie looked crestfallen, and I regretted what I said. "But we made out great today! I mean, I can pay my share of the rent without having to beg my parents!"

Tony took the roll from Natalie. "They should have paid us for the commercial. Fucking cheapskates." He threw it into the guitar case, closed and locked it. "Do you guys want to split the money at home, or should we get something to eat and split it here?"

"Why not a drink?" I chimed in, insistently. Inside, I was begging for one. "We can afford to get drunk at a bar instead of at home with Uncle Popov."

"Speak for yourself, chica-I don't drink that window cleaner shit," Pablo grunted. I felt ashamed, which was usual for me. I had just accepted that I was drunk trash; but I kept getting blindsided every time I saw that my comrades actually had self-value.

"I'm cool with going to a bar if you guys are," Tony said. We all agreed, if only for different reasons.

A few hours and beers later, we all walked out of The Fish & Palm Tree with $97.60 each, having spent a considerable sum on getting quite wrecked, some of us more than others.

I was able to walk without needing to lean on someone or something, so I considered this a victory. When we walked out of the bar, the sun had already set, but it was nowhere near late at night. After all, it was autumn.

I was at the stage of drunkenness where the giddiness and momentary-spurt-of-questionable-genius was throbbing in my wet brain. I thought, on the way to the 4th Street/Colorado metro stop, it would be hilarious if we all linked arms and skipped like the cast in 'The Wizard of Oz'. The idea was quickly and mercilessly shot down by my comrades. I was about to furiously defend my idea when we all heard it:

"Remember citizen: in justice we TRUST!"

We all simultaneously stopped in our tracks, as if we had just hit an invisible wall. We all looked at each other, with a mix of confusion and disgust on our faces.

"The fuck," Tony blurted, "was THAT?"

"I thought the tourist freakshows went home already," giggled Lola.

"Where did that come from?" I asked, looking around the intersection.

"There," Natalie said, pointing to our right.

I saw a police officer, young, tall and muscular. His uniform looked as though it was sewn directly onto his body, which was incredibly bulk yet not grotesque in its musculature. He was slowly walking toward us, though he attention was not fixed on any one thing. He was simply doing his duty, observing everything around him, even behind him. He was wearing aviators, even though it was a night, but the lenses were tinted a light color. Behind them, I could see his eyes, large and sparkling with a life and energy I couldn't remember seeing before that moment. He also had what could only be described as winged hair. It was in vogue amongst pop stars and artists at the time, but this policeman was the only one who really pulled it off in a non-ironic fashion. Dark blonde strands both curled and pointed in darts beneath his officer's cap.

To me, he seemed to float. He was floating like a dandelion seed, whose straight course was  
created by a gentle yet determined north wind. All the people around him were just blades of grass and specks of dirt through which he seemed to swirl. In the shine and shadow of the streetlights, where the others merely appeared and disappeared, he seemed to have a glow which endured and grew with each step towards me. I could not look at anything else at that moment.

My breathing stopped. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

And then an old yet familiar feeling suddenly formed inside me, its heavy, rapid twinges coursing through my blood. It was comforting in its familiarity, and its toxicity welcome in my bubbling, drunken state. The jealousy. The bitterness. The rage. He was beautiful, and I was an utter slob. I could never have him. He would never touch me.

Never. Never in a million—

"OINK OINK-I SMELL BACON!"

Dead silence followed Tony's shout. A solid yet thrilling silence.

The policeman looked around, like a dog looking for his own tail, then turned back to us.

"I DON'T SMELL ANYTHING-IS THE ODOR COMING FROM THE FISH AND PALM TREE?" he shouted back. It wasn't sarcasm. It wasn't even angry. He was really looking for a smell.

And then we died. My band and I just collapsed into a screaming laughter that could be heard all the way in Dallas. I couldn't even make a sound-I just shook while tears streamed down my face. Lola and I made eye contact and it made her laugh even harder. Tony was crumpled in a heap on the sidewalk, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath. Pablo and Natalie had turned their backs to the policeman, and were trying their hardest to stop their laughing by punching each other in the arm, to no avail. We were a mess.

Then I turned back to the policeman. The look on his face killed my laughter. The unmistakable look of deep hurt, shame and embarrassment. He was walking a little slower, aiming his trajectory towards the edge of the curb, so he could walk by us instead of towards us. I felt angry at myself. Once again, as was my wont in life, I hurt somebody deeply.

While the others were still giggling, I ran up to him. The laughter died out.

"Hey!" I said in as friendly a tone as I could manage. He looked me directly in the eyes. His face was even more painfully gorgeous up close. I had to tell myself to keep breathing.

I pulled the lily that was pinned behind my ear, and held it out to him.

"I'm really sorry about that-we're just stupid sometimes. Here."

As he looked at the withered lily, I glanced at his badge. It said Fulbright.

"I'm...I'm not sure if I can accept this," he stammered. "I don't know what the protocol is for receiving gifts from the citizenry while on du-"

"Fucking forget it, then," I muttered, and dropped the flower on the ground in front of him. Then I walked past him. "Goddamn robot."

I heard footsteps rush behind me as I was walking. It was my band. We all walked as one, tense mass down the busy sidewalk.

"Why'd you do that," Lola asked while walking alongside me. "You could have gotten arrested!"

"Bitch, are you suicidal or something," Pablo asked.

"You're probably going to get a ticket for littering in front of a fucking cop. Way to fucking go," Tony hissed without looking at me. Natalie said nothing.

I looked behind me, in case Tony was right. He wasn't. The policeman was now far behind us, and had moved to the opposite sidewalk.

Fulbright.

Fulbright.

Full bright.

Bright.

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Chapter 2

"Doesn't sound like love at first sight," Phoenix said, barely touching his cucumber roll. "But it definitely sounds like Bobby."

"Yeah," I said, playing with my tempura with sweaty chopsticks. "But Phoenix, you never really met Bobby. You never really knew him."

"Pardon?"

"Well," I quickly said, afraid of coming off rude, "the real Bobby had a lot of those, Hardy Boy, do-gooder attributes, but he wasn't...he wasn't what I read in the papers. The real Bobby was more...well, he WAS goofy!" We both laughed.

"But," I continued, "his heart could not be denied. I don't know how else to...extrapolate on that. You just knew he loved his job, he loved where he was...you knew somehow knew, no matter what he did, if he loved you.

"You felt it. Deeply."

"Look! Seagulls!"

As the roller coaster slowly climbed up the last few clicks of the track, Pablo, Lola and I discreetly sniffed tiny bottles of alkyl nitrites while sitting in the last car. We all screwed the caps shut in a synchronized fashion, stuffed them into our pockets, and held our breath.

We were celebrating in the finest fashion we knew. With Tony's help, we had finally gotten a booking agent. We weren't just going to be begging anymore-we were going to be performers. We were above busking from now on.

'Look, seagulls', seems like a stupid secret phrase, but it's far more subtle than, 'snort!' And so it was, when the roller coaster finally and quickly descended down a metal and wooden slope, into its standard yet ever thrilling vortexes. I was in dizziness within dizziness, and although the shapes in front of my eyes made sense visually, intellectually, I couldn't piece the visions together. I was too fast and too tight-all I could do was scream and laugh until the car jerked to a stop.

And so it was, all afternoon, that the three of us were goofed on poppers and oxys, taking turns riding the roller coaster and ferris wheel and laughing at the stupid, yuppie tourist trash. We were no longer going to have to slog our instruments all the way from South Park to Santa Monica, only to have them get dirty, dented, and unappreciated by these assholes. We were no longer going to beg at their feet for petty change. We would no longer have to play shitty Mamas & Papas and Counting Crows covers and try to convince them with puppy dog eyes that we were just 'working our way through USC'. From now on, we would only play in bars and clubs. We would play were booze flowed. Where celebrities came to get their coke bloat on, and maybe throw us a bone. Where the other real musicians would recognize us as one of their own. Where these yuppie assholes were DYING to seen at least once during their Hollywood fantasy vacation, before they headed back to Bumfuckville, U. S. A.

That day, we were crazy gods.

But despite all this, my thoughts kept turning towards Fulbright, the boy I had hurt. He was by no means an actual boy, and he very well could have been older than me for all I knew, but I had to refer to him as a boy because of his, well, fragility. In the brief moment I had disastrously shared with him, I saw an innocence, joy, and sensitivity that was still healthy, intact, and astoundingly beautiful. And perhaps that's why I lashed out at him when he didn't accept my half-assed peace offering, although I couldn't pinpoint the reason at the time: I hated myself for being unable to undo what I did. And in my mind, I scrawled a mustache on the goddamn Mona Lisa.

We three had planned to go to The Fish & Palm Tree to continue our celebration. We had planned to get pathetically drunk (or at least I did). We had planned to then scare off tourists with our drunken, terrible Donald Duck impressions (or at least I did). We had planned

"Excuse me-young lady in the black dress! Could I talk to you for a moment?"

Oh fuck.

I turned around, and there was the boy. He was stunning. And still swirling through the debris of a crowd. And still glowing. And this time, incredibly pissed off. For the briefest of moments, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. All I could do was stand and stare at him.

He reached out one gloved hand out, and beckoned me with one finger, and his eyebrows raised. I walked towards him through the crowded sidewalk as stoically as I could muster. As I did, I noticed his other hand was in a closed fist. It seemed to be holding som—

I checked my pockets. Nothing.

OH DEAR GOD NO.

Wait-alkyl nitrites aren't illegal, I thought quickly. At least, I don't think so. I really fuckin' hope so.

When I finally got close to him, I could faintly see a crowd forming around us. Apparently, he did too, so he grabbed me by the arm and let me around a corner towards an alley. I could hear catcalls, whistles and applause.

"Book her on suspicion of being a fucking fatass!" Roars of laughter followed. I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. Why in front of him?

And then Fulbright let go of my arm. Of course he would. I'm disgusting.

"HEY!"

Fulbright's voice was a sonic boom, nothing short of that. Every living thing on the street became frozen in its wake, except all the birds, which had vacated all the rooftops and telephone lines in a simultaneous mass exodus. Everyone had a look on their face, which was a combination of shock and reverence. It was incredible. Apparently, judging from the direction of Fulbright's eye line, it was coming from a bar across the road. I could tell who the guilty party was from the great parting that was happening in the outdoor seating area, leaving a single table filled with sheepish men exposed for the kill. But that didn't happen. Fulbright simply allowed the roar to resound, and then turned to me. He knew I wouldn't run on him.

He pulled me into the alley, walking until we were entirely out of sight from the crowd, and then he gently pressed me against a doorframe. It must have been a kitchen or back entrance to one of the bars. He kept his hand on my shoulder, and slowly unfurled his other hand, in which lay my bottle of alkyl nitrate. He looked at it, and then looked in my eyes.

"Is this yours?" I nodded my head. "Do have any idea what's in this bottle?"

"Poppers?" Humor...anything to keep me from crying.

"Well, yes," Fulbright said, both confused and frustrated. "But people go blind from sniffing these. Heck, if you accidentally drank it, it could put you into a coma and kill you!" He actually said 'heck'. That killed me.

"Now," he continued, "These aren't technically illegal, so I can't arrest you." He handed them back to me(!), then looked deeply in my eyes.

_My god, you are a beautiful man._

"Did you take anything else today? Marijuana?"

_Men usually don't have hair that soft. Are you by any chance of Swiss descent?_

"No, not at all. Why?"

_Please kiss me._

"Your pupils are really dilated...and your face is-"

_Just once, on the..._

"-really flushed. Are you telling the truth?"

"I took a couple oxys before, but that's it. I didn't even drink today."

_...tits._

"May I see your ID please," he asked. I quickly complied, pulling my wallet out of my tiny purse and then handed my license to him. He scanned it carefully. "Emily Dunn?"

"Yeah, D-u-n-n..." I was met with a blank look from Fulbright. "Sorry-it's a habit from kindergarten."

"I'm Officer Bobby Fulbright-I have reason to believe you're not being entirely honest with me, and I feel that a body search might be in order, unless you feel like you have something to tell me."

And, then, something snapped in my brain. And my heart. And it hurt.

I shrugged. "Search me? Why not?"

"Sorry?" Bobby asked.

"I mean, if you're actually willing," I continued, as my voice continued to crack, "I just feel sorry for you, you know?" The dam was beginning to break, and I held my breath, turning against the wall, assuming the position.

I am an idiot. A big, fat idiot. Please let the San Andreas Fault open beneath me NOW.

Bobby leaned against the wall next to me. "What are you talking about-why do you feel sorry for me?"

"I just took two oxys-I know that's wrong, I'm sorry-but I got nothing on me, but search me if you gotta. I'm so sorry about this-" He turned me around, and gently held my shoulders.

"Why do you feel sorry for me? What are you sorry for? What's going on?"

And then I broke down. I could feel my face crumple and break, and arms wrapped around my body as if to hide myself. I tried to turn away again, but Bobby still held me. And as tears streamed down my face, and all possible refinement, finesse and sexiness now gone, I just started to babble:

"It's just...out there...what just happened with that guy, saying that...I mean, I get it! Fuck him! Who the hell is he? He's not the first, and frankly, I've gotten worse from my own family! I fucking get it already...But it's just...I hate that it happened in front of you...I don't ever want to look stupid in front of you. I mean, you can call me a fat ass in front of my parents, call me a fat ass in front of my friends, call me a fat ass in front of the Pope, but not in front of you."

"Why?"

"Because then it actually matters." I managed a small laugh. "Goddamn, I feel 5 years old agai-"

Bobby suddenly took off his cap, wrapped his arms around me, and held me. Tightly. One hand slowly rubbed my back, and the other one gently stroked the back of my head. And I just sobbed. Deep, heavy sobs. I was tremendously ashamed by how much I loved being a crying mess in his arms. How much I needed it, despite how unexpected it was.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, "I'm keeping you from your job."

"This is my job. Believe it or not, it actually is." He let me go, held me by the shoulders, and looked at me.

"You are absolutely not a fat ass. You are not ugly. At all...but you must really think you are to fill your body with that poison."

I felt heavy inside again.

He continued: "I see you singing with your group sometimes-you're okay, but I bet you'd be better if you didn't drink so much...during the morning, at least. You know that stuff's like paint thinner for your throat? And not to mention what it can do to your face. But it's not all about looks...

"But I just find it really sad that someone as beautiful as you hates yourself so much."

I had long since stopped crying. I just stared at him with wonder. I never thought somebody would say something like this to me. And I sure as hell never thought the deliverer of the message would be Officer Bobby Fulbright.

He put his cap back on, and walked back toward the street, but before he left, he turned back towards me one more time and said:

"I shouldn't have to tell you how beautiful you are. No one should give you permission to feel pretty or smart or worthwhile.

"Do me a favor, and please don't go out tonight." And with that, he left.

A moment after he was out of sight, Pablo and Lola rushed towards me.

"What happened?" Lola asked. "You were crying weren't you?"

"What did that asshole do to you?" Pablo said.

I just handed the poppers to Pablo and brushed past them.

I didn't go with them to The Fish & Palm Tree.

I went home.

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Chapter 3

Phoenix just looked at me, as the tears silently rolled down my face.

"No," he said, finally breaking the silence. "That was not the Bobby I knew."

I smiled and nodded, finishing off the tempura, and licking the fried batter off my fingers. "Nope," I agreed, smiling through my tears. "That was the real Bobby. That was the boy I fell in love with, that day in the alley."

"So, when did you and Bobby start dating?"

I wiped away the tears and smiled. "Well, neither one of us really asked the other one out...I mean, months later, a relationship between us just sort of...exploded."

"I'm so glad you came!"

It was February now. I hadn't drank, sniffed, taken pills, or done anything in six moment in the alley, I had finally decided that I was sick and tired. Of what, I wasn't exactly sure. But getting high was a sizable part of the equation.

I was at the doorstep to Bobby's apartment. It wasn't an unsolicited visit. It all began the day after I decided to get sober, all of which I described in much better detail to Mr. Wright than I will write here:

Our band (which was no longer named Sister Cities, but Arpaio's Salt-a name which I detested, but Tony got us the booking agent, so whatever he says, goes) had made a resolution that, since we had acquired a booking agent and were now "above busking". But I decided, on my own, every day, to drag my guitar and folding chair all the way near the Santa Monica Pier, plop myself down in the promenade, right where Bobby walked his beat, and play all the goofy love songs I couldn't play with my band, because they were "above all that".

And I would look for Bobby. I didn't know why at the time, but I was fascinated with him. Playing love songs I think just seemed like a tongue-in-cheek way of calling a truce...although I don't think we were ever at war (I wouldn't stand a chance against him). The way he walked, the way his voiced both boomed and played like jazzy musical notes when he spoke, and the way he smiled when he looked at me. That same feeling I had when I first saw him was always refreshed anew, but it wasn't the same cheap feelings of lust. If I would reflect on that then, deep, sharp waves of shame would hit me. No, now my feelings were of reverence, wonder and awe.

How could a simple policeman distract me like this-even when I had nothing to hide?

I went to busk on the promenade whenever I could, and every other I went there, I saw him. During the first few times, we were understandably leery of each other, and kept each other's distance. We slowly warmed to each other, exchanging smiles and hellos. After 4 months had passed, it got to point where we would routinely share a lunch break together at my spot on the promenade. When it was his turn to bring lunch, he either brought burgers or chicken. When it was my turn, I would usually bring bacon sandwiches. God bless him, he never got the joke.

And so it was-my band was, even at a snail's pace, getting respectability in the club circuit, I was becoming a quasi-respected fixture on the promenade (and the extra money didn't hurt at all), and if anybody gave me shit, my cop buddy Bobby would knock the living shit out of said offender. It wasn't likely (he wouldn't hurt a fly), but he was my ally, and that was enough. I was truly at peace.

Then one day, in the deep of a California winter, a shift happened.

In summation: it was a crowded Friday afternoon on the promenade. I shifted my set list to more contemporary pop crap, and the tips grew like wildflowers. It was fucking beautiful. So much so, that I almost enjoyed the hideous music I was forcing myself to play.

I saw Bobby coming up the block with a bag in his hand and a giant smile on his face. It was lunchtime. I was so absorbed by the glorious sight of him that I didn't notice the asshole who just shut my guitar case, tips and all, picked it up, and bolted.

Bobby noticed. In a white and blue flash, he flew by me, pursuing he shall henceforth shall be named Captain Asshole. It took me few moments to realize that Bobby had dropped the bag of lunch in my lap as he had run by me. That's the kind of guy he was.

I lost both Bobby and Captain Asshole in the crowd. Someone had come up to me, attempting to console me, but I didn't need consoling. I just grabbed her shoulder, and climbed onto my folding chair. She didn't protest-she simply asked me what I could see.

I saw that, at this point, Bobby had managed to get the guitar case, but he was struggling to handcuff Captain Asshole. And then Captain Asshole punched Bobby in the face. I felt like my eyes were suddenly bursting into flames. As soon as Captain's Asshole's fist disconnected with Bobby's cheek, he decided to flee in my direction. I stepped down off the chair.

Captain Asshole broke through the crowd.

And then my guitar connected with his face. Hard.

Later, at the precinct, I said in my report that I just assumed that, since he was unsuccessful in getting my tips, but had still managed to get away from Bobby, he was going to take my guitar. After all, the crowd was just gawking tourists, who were either too afraid to help, or were just filming it on their phones for whatever reason. I told them I only did what I did out of fear and instinct. I told them that I was convinced this man was running to hurt me.

It was a bunch of goddamn lies, of course. This prick hurt my buddy Bobby. Sent him to the ER. I would have fucking killed him if I was sure I could have gotten away with it.

The police chief said they would get back to me if any further investigation was necessary, but as far as he was concerned, this was a done deal. He asked me if I had any questions. I asked if I could get Officer Fulbright's phone number (after all of those lunch dates, I had never thought to ask for it). I wanted to make sure he was doing okay.

I know somehow that the chief knew my report was utter lies, but it was white lies. Mostly. I think he got my helpless-puppydog attachment to Bobby Fulbright. He happily gave me not only his phone number, but also his address.

"Oh my god, Bobby! You poor thing!"

The door had opened to reveal Bobby holding an icepack to his face. The contusions were already turning black and purple. He tried to smile as wide as he usually could, to show that he was fine, but I could tell that he was wincing.

"I know," he sighed, "It's just the wages of defending Lady Justice!" He meant that. That KILLED me.

"Goddamn, you are too cute, Bobby," I laughed. He let me in, as if that was the password. I instantly surveyed the place. For a guy who was barely home, he sure kept it clean. Although it was a small studio apartment, not one thing was out of place. I guess he kept guard over his home as he did his beat near the promenade, as if Lady Justice was in peril of sneezing from dust bunnies or falling in the toilet. I privately got a kick out of that.

"Get on the couch," I commanded. "I want to take a look at those bruises."

"But..." he started, staring at the loaded basket in my arms. "But I'm hungry." He hunched his back, pressed the tips of his fingers together, and pouted. He was bone-crushingly adorable. I smiled and shook my head.

"Honey," I said, (I had never called him Honey before-neither one of us had EVER called each other that. It was too personal) "I'll feed you all you want, but I want to look at those bruises-I don't think just ice is cutting it."

"Just...ice?...Justice?"

"Get your damn butt on the couch, Bobby." He finally complied. I put the basket in the rather sparse refrigerator. I guess he ate on the go a lot. I looked in the cupboard. I didn't expect him to have vinegar, but there it was: apple cider vinegar. I breathed a sigh of relief. I poured it into a glass, and then ran cold water into it.

"Whadja bring me?" Bobby asked, watching me from the couch. Like a good boy.

"Your favorite: bacon sandwiches, with apple cake. And I'm glad I also picked up some fruit-vitamin C will help those bruises heal." I pulled a few sheets of paper towels off the roll which hung above the small counter, and headed towards Bobby.

I found myself awkwardly balancing on the wooden coffee table, which stood in front of the couch. Suddenly, I became overcome with irrational self-consciousness. I didn't want to hurt him by pressing too hard on his bruises. I didn't want to make him too uncomfortable. I didn't want my breath to stink. I didn't want nosehairs sticking out.

My God, what was wrong with me?

"I'm ashamed," Bobby suddenly said, as I applied the first vinegar-soaked towel.

I was taken aback. "Ashamed of what?"

"I didn't thank you yesterday. I should have thanked you for what you did."

"I'm not proud of what I did yesterday...I didn't do it cause it was the right thing to do," I said as I applied the second towel. Bobby looked confused.

"Then why in the world did you do it?"

"Because I was enraged. That guy hit you. He hurt you. I hit him because I lost control. And I'm ashamed of that." Bobby looked mystified.

"You LIED to the police chief?" he gasped. I couldn't help but smile again. His innocence melted my heart.

"Yup-on the report, anyway. The chief knows the truth."

"...Which is?"

"I just like you."

Oh Christ. On one hand, I didn't want it to come out like that, but on a subconscious level, I wanted him to know, simply, that I liked him. That I didn't hate him. That perhaps I did desire him on some shallow, physical level, but I couldn't see it then at that moment. But I could sense something that made telling him 'I like you' dangerous.

Silence hung in the air as I continued to press the vinegar against the wounds. Bobby winced every now and again, but he seemed to intuitively trust me. To surrender to me.

"Can I ask you something?" Bobby finally broke the silence.

"Sure. What?" Inside, I was screaming. Please don't ask me if-

"How did you know about this cold-water-and-vinegar remedy? I mean, no offense, but I look at your clothes and your cell phone and stuff and...you don't really strike me as an earth-mother type."

I laughed, relieved again. God, talking to him was like riding a rickety, old roller coaster. "Well, I learned a few tricks for taking care of scrapes and bruises from my drinking days."

"How long have you been sober?"

"A little over six months. No booze, no drugs, nothing."

Bobby smiled. "I'm really proud of you, babe." Something unfamiliar started firing off in my brain.

Something good and sweet. He called me babe.

"Well," I said, walking back up to the kitchen sink, "I feel like I should thank you, Bobby." I grabbed the bar of soap that stood next to the faucet and scrubbed the stink of vinegar off my hands.

"You confronted me, that day, when I had the poppers. You said to me what I couldn't bear to say to myself: the truth. Ever since that day, I haven't touched a thing. You helped me shift something in my brain which desperately needed shifting."

I slowly dried my hands, then turned and walked towards him, then moved to sit beside him on the couch instead of the coffee table. He shifted to his side to give me room to sit. I looked deeply in his eyes. "You saved me, Bobby."

"I refuse to take credit," he said, firmly. "I could have told you all the truths in the world, but you saved yourself. You picked yourself up...and," he added while gently touching my wrist, "that is really beautiful, Emily."

And that was it. All resistance was useless against the giant wave my heart and body had now succumbed to. Once he touched me, I knew I could never leave him. Ever.

"I'm sorry," I said, as I felt myself beginning to blush, "I'm afraid I'm coming down with Florence

Nightingale syndrome." I figured he wouldn't know what I was talking about.

"Isn't that when nurses fall in love with their patients?"

Aw hell. I descended into a fit of embarrassed giggles and tried to cover my face.

"It's okay," he said, half-laughing but also soothingly. After a moment, he gently pulled my hands from my face, and then peeled off the bandages. The color of the bruises was already beginning to soften. But a redness was developing around his nose.

"I think I might be coming down with a case of...sick...guy...with...hot nurse...syndrome."

I reached out and touched his shoulder, instinctively, as if I was trying to warn him. He rolled on his back again, grabbed my hand, and began caressing it in his. He then pulled my hand to his mouth and, with an incredible, absolutely intuitive gentleness, kissed my fingers.

I started swallowing just to keep myself from saying "I love you."

"Don't make me kiss you," I suddenly blurted out.

"Why?" Bobby asked, with no real concern on his face. He continued to kiss and caress my fingers.

"Because...if you do..."

"Yes?" He was pulling me to him by the arm now.

"I might end up with some bruises-and at this point, I'm immune to vinegar."

"Then I'll kiss them and make them better!"

And with that, he grabbed me by the shoulders, and pulled me down to him. My lips found his, and our mouths pressed together, stopping breath and time. His mouth was sweet, wet and generous, as his lips and tongue traveled from my mouth to my ear. I flung one leg over his waist and straddled him. As my hands stroked and explored his chest, I felt my hips begin to buck and flex on their own, rubbing my cunt against the large lump between his legs, which seemed to grow as I continued to ride him.

Gasping and panting, we hastily began to peel off our clothes, while still managing to kiss and grope each other. It looked about as graceful as it sounds. Not very. After spending more than fifteen seconds attempting to unhook my bra, he furiously grabbed the back with both hands and, with a grunt, ripped it open beyond repair. I did not protest.

When we were fully naked, he rolled on top of me, pinning me to the couch, like an animal with its prey. His lips and tongue danced around my ear, twisting the nerves around my brain with his hot and wet breath. I ran my hands up and down the ripples and bulges of his musculature. My god, he felt even more perfect than he looked.

Bobby's hands traveled from the sides of my face, down my arms, resting on my breasts. He squeezed them both gently, groaning softly in my ear as he did, his tongue dragging along my earlobe.

"I want you," he groaned, grinding himself against me as I latched onto him with my legs. "I've wanted you...for a while, Emily..."

"What do want to do to me, Bobby?"

"Everything."

"...then you shall have it."

I pushed him off me, looking deeply into those intense, grey eyes.

"What's wrong?" He gasped.

I didn't say a word. I just gently pulled him off the couch, then I laid with my back on the seat cushion, and my ass and legs on the back support cushion which leaned against the wall, and my head hung upside-down.

"Bobby, fuck my throat."

Bobby looked shocked. He started to protest, but I grabbed him, and pulled him close to me. I pulled his large, beautiful cock into my mouth, and began to suck. I grabbed his hips, and pushed and pulled him into me. From my viewpoint, I could not only see his statuesque legs and back, but also his gorgeous backside. Once I saw it, I grabbed it. And ferociously squeezed it. And spanked it. Again and again and again.

"Oh...oh god, Emily...you're so good..." Soon, Bobby was thrusting on his own. I spread my legs wide for fear of coming too soon. Turning Bobby on was turning me on something fierce, and I wanted to stay on the ride as long as I could. But with my legs widened, Bobby then bent forward and returned the favor. His oral favors were gentle, his tongue soft and flicking, and his fingers persistent and precise yet careful. He was incredible. I briefly considered where he learned how to go down on a girl like this, and the thought, rather than send me into a spiral of jealousy, threatened to send me right into climax. As I sucked on his prick, I began to give him a 'screamer' as opposed to a 'hummer'-anything to relieve the pressure. Once I did this, Bobby threw back his head and released a moan.

"Baby," he gasped, "You're so wet...you're all...slippy..." I detached my mouth from his penis.

"Please fuck me, Bobby," I whined. "Fuck my pussy! I need you inside me, before I burst..."

I twisted myself right-side-up, and leaned into one corner of the couch. Bobby launched himself into me, as if he were just released from a trap. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, running my hands, and even feet, along his muscular frame and soft skin. Our mouths met again, and kissed deeply.

Despite how incredibly wet I was, when I guided his cock inside me, I felt the pinch of tightness as his large girth pushed inside me. I gasped and clutched him. He gently kissed my forehead. Apparently, this issue had come up before with other lucky women. But once he was inside, it was bliss. I looked in his eyes, and stroked his face.

"Please fuck me Bobby...please...pound my pussy...hard..."

He kissed me on the mouth once, and the pinned my shoulders against the couch. He wasted no time in proceeding to fuck me hard. He leaned back, scooped my legs under his arms, and began to thrust himself into me quickly. He grunted and panted as the friction between our legs got hotter and hotter.

"Jesus," he gasped, "you're so tight...ah...it's like your pussy is...it's sucking me in...it feels so fucking good!" Hearing him curse shocked me a bit.

"Oh, Bobby," I moaned, "You feel...so good inside me...baby...you're so good..."

Suddenly, I grabbed his ass, squeezed hard, and began to guide him in deeper inside me. I just couldn't leave his cute little butt alone.

Across from us, I suddenly noticed there was a television. In its black, empty screen, I could see the reflection of us fucking on the couch. Or rather, I could see the reflection of Bobby fucking me, with his strong, muscular back, and firm yet supple buttocks, clutched in my hands, thrusting in between my legs. And it was enough to finally send me over the edge into climax.

"Oh, Bobby," I screamed, "I'm going to come!...Ah...ah...please...don't stop..." Bobby's hips bucked faster and faster.

"I want to feel you come...I want to feel your pussy come...come for me...oh god...yes..."

And he bent forward and whispered:

"Come for me, fuckslut!"

And with that, I exploded. Hollers from deep within my core emerged from my throat. I bleated and squealed filthy obscenities and blasphemies, as I wildly ground against Bobby's hips, clutching his ass for dear life. I found out later that I drew blood from the poor boy.

After my climax, it didn't take long for Bobby to follow suit:

"Where to you want me to come?" he panted.

"All over me," I gasped. "I want your cum all over me...please...spray it all over me..."

And he that, he pulled out, with pants and groans, he released his seed onto my breasts and belly, smearing it with his cock. Then, he fell to his knees, and let his head fall into my lap. I reached onto the coffee table, grabbed one of the unused paper towels, and wiped the cum off my breasts, belly, and Bobby's nose. Poor baby.

I slid to the ground, and gently wrapped my arms around him. I would totally understand if this gesture was not reciprocated. Surely this event was too spontaneous to mean anything more would come of it. I expected a pat on the back and, "Okay, now give me the sandwiches and get out." I just wanted an answer before I got in any more deep.

He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me tightly. VERY tightly. Then he kissed me.

"Please stay here tonight."

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. Chapter 4

"He came to my rescue, and I guess, I was trying to thank him."

Phoenix smiled.

"So, is that when you started dating each other?"

"Well, that's when we started fucking each other!"

Phoenix stared blankly at me. The waiter put down our udon and beef negimaki, and picked up our empty glasses.

"I'll be back with fresh drinks," the boy said. And he bounced back to the bar, leaving myself and Phoenix, who was now blushing a bit.

"Sorry," I shrugged, "I'm really brusque." He shook his head.

"So, you weren't 'officially' dating at this point?" he asked.

"No. Not at all." I took my chopsticks and began to twist the noodles in the bowl which sat in front of me.

"Because that very same night, he told me something...something that almost made me run off." I lifted the chopsticks to my mouth, and stuffed a wad of hot, wet noodles into my mouth. The heat was piercing.

"What was it?" Phoenix's voice was quiet yet excited.

I slowly chewed and swallowed. I didn't know where to begin except to say one word:

"Simon."

The water was hot enough to make my brow sweat, but it was undeniably soothing to my muscles. Bobby lay behind me in the tub, his arms wrapped around me and his legs underneath mine. Periodically, I would nuzzle against his neck, and he would respond with a kiss on the mouth, or a gentle grope of my breasts. But other than that, we just relaxed in the silence, with the only real heavy stimulus being the Ella Fitzgerald album which played softly in the other room.

We had made love on the couch. And then, after we had eaten and recharged, he had gotten it into his head to pin me against the sink and take me from behind. I certainly did not protest. After that, he and I moved to the bedroom and more or less exploded in there, sweating, moaning and groaning into a thrusting mass which eventually, and spectacularly, deflated.

Now, we rested and meditated in the silence. Part of me was dying to speak out, say something-perhaps beg him to take me again, if he had the strength within him. But I didn't dare disturb the quiet, as if the entire moment was crystalized. A sudden movement, a sound, a look out of place could shatter and wreck everything. Prematurely, anyway.

The flame of it may dwindle to an ember  
and the stars forget to shine  
and we may see the meadow in December  
icy, white and crystalline

I found myself subconsciously mouthing the words. Now, they seemed to mean something to me.

Oh shit. I was getting all romantic. Wasn't this just about fucking? Weren't we just lying in the bath together because we were both spent and aching-not because we were trying to force some intimate, bullshit emotions? We had done it. We had fucked. Several times. I had got what I wanted, I guess. After bathtime, it would be time for me to get dressed and get the fuck out. I knew the game-I was practically a referee at this point.

He couldn't possibly want more to do with me. No way. Not ME.

But then again, he didn't get mad when I dug my nails into his ass by mistake.

"I didn't know you liked jazz," I said. I couldn't resist.

His fingers began to intertwine with mine. "Love it. I should ask you to play me some Billie Holiday sometime." He bit the lobe of my ear. I writhed in his lap.

"Sure-I just gotta learn the chords," I answered, laughing. I let myself think that meant he wanted to see me again.

His lips began to travel down my neck to the shoulder. His hands slid down my wet body, one stroking my thighs, the other between my legs. Purrs emanated from his kissing mouth as he started to probe and toy with my pussy.

"Again?" I asked, with genuine curiosity. "What-did you just get released from a cage or something?" He chuckled, but continued nonetheless. After a moment, I carefully stood up, turned around, and then lowered myself back into the tub. This time, facing Bobby, I wrapped my legs around his waist (or as best I could, given the confined space) and hung my arms around his shoulders. My hands slowly and softly felt for the nape of his neck, and gently clutched a handful of his hair, which was now beginning to wilt from the steam of the bath.

"It's..." he began, running his hands up and down my back. "It might be because it's...it's been a while since I've been with a woman."

"How long?"

"...a few years."

I slowly began to plant kisses on his face, while still playing with his silken hair. "I'm...honored...to be...the...target...of your...pent-up...sexuality..." My lips moved off his face, to his jawbone, and then to his ear. He began to gasp softly and squeeze what flesh of mine he held in his hands.

"I'm...ah...glad it was you, Emily..." I could feel his cock begin to stiffen against me. I couldn't believe it. I started to giggle.

"What?" Bobby asked. He looked confused.

"You're adorable. You're incredible. It's...I can't believe you've been without a woman for so long. "

"What's so unbelievable about it?" He didn't get it. The walking, talking Adonis didn't get it.

"Well, let's just say I don't know who I feel more sorry for: you, or the rest of the female population who's missing out on you." I know, self-sabotage. But before anything else, I was his friend, and I wasn't going to lie to him. I wouldn't make him my boyfriend, even if he agreed to it-I couldn't humiliate him. The underwear model and the breeder hog. What a sight that would be in public.

He looked away, his expression suddenly troubled. He didn't react the way I expected him to. I fucked up and said the wrong thing.

"I'm sorry," I pleaded, trying to make him happy. Or at the very least, distracted from his thoughts. "I didn't mean to-"

"Emily...I really like you...but...I don't know where to-"

My stomach turned. I didn't want to hear another word. "It's okay I'll go."

"No, that's not-"

"-really, there's no hard-"

I tried to get up, but he grabbed me by the elbow pulled me down into his lap. Hard. I became a little

frightened by his sudden intensity.

"Please listen to me," he said quietly. "It's not what you think..." He began to pout. "It's probably nothing like what you think."

I just closed my eyes and released a sigh. "Just tell me, Bobby...you'll still be my friend. I promise."

His face darkened. There was no shame, but there was an unquestionable sense of darkness in his expression.

"I really like you Emily. I mean, I really...really like you. And I wasn't lying to you when I said it's been years since I've been with a woman. I'm dead serious about that. But it's not like I slept with you out of desperation...I really...I really..."

"Like me?" We laughed.

"Yes...and I would very much like to see you again. But...I couldn't do that without being completely honest with you about myself. So, here goes:

"Emily...I've been a relationship with another man for 7 months."

My first reaction was deadly silence. Then laughter. Hysterical laughter. This had to be some sick joke. But a pretty good one. Good one, Bobby-I didn't know you had it in you. Now fuck me a fourth time.

I laughed until tears streamed out of my eyes. I laughed until my stomach and sides hurt. I just collapsed into his chest and shook, waiting for him to break and laugh as well.

He didn't.

"I'm not kidding, Emily. I've been sleeping with with a man for almost a year."

I stopped laughing. His tone had become sharp, not quite angry, but certainly hurt and insulted. Slowly, I pulled my head away from his chest, and looked up at his face. His face was stony with pain.

"You're serious, aren't you?" I finally managed.

He nodded. "His name is Simon," he said, his voice now a bit braver. "He's...he's 18. He's studying to be a prosecutor." His face began to light up as he talked. "He's a brilliant guy-he could be a prosecutor RIGHT NOW if...he's a wonderful..." His voice trailed off.

"Do you love him?" I asked gently.

"Very much so. Yes." My heart sank. I felt dirty all of a sudden, like I just stolen something.

"Are you gay?"

"No, I'm very attracted to women."

"So you're...bisexual."

Bobby crinkled his nose in thought. "I...I suppose that might be the technical term, but Simon's the only man I've ever been with, and I can't see myself being with other men in general."

"That sounds like serious monogamy," I said, icily.

"I'm just being honest."

"Then why in the world would you cheat on him? With ME of all people?"

"What do you mean 'with YOU of all people'?" Then I could feel myself getting angry. If he couldn't see it by now, I was going to show him.

"Well, this Simon guy sounds like he has everything going for him, he's younger than me, he's most definitely better looking than me-"

"How do you know that? You've never met him!"

"Come on Bobby, I couldn't even go on safari without being the fattest-"

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. Hard.

"STOP IT," he shouted. "For Justice's sake, stop denigrating yourself!" He invoked the name of his beloved Justice. He meant THIS shit.

"I don't honestly know ," he continued, "who reinforced this notion in your head that you are ugly and unlovable, but I want to find them and...well...punch them in the face!" He had a bit of difficulty saying that. Like I've said before, Bobby wouldn't hurt a fly. Even if the fly somehow deserved it.

I started to cry. "I'm sorry, Bobby...it's just...no, it's too crazy, I can't say it."

"Try me." Cards on the table now.

"Bobby, you're beautiful. You're not just handsome, you're beautiful. I mean, you could quit being a cop tomorrow and become a model. I'm not kidding-with your looks, you could sell shit to a pig farmer." Bobby laughed.

"That would be an interesting ad campaign for sure."

"I just...I just don't know what you could possibly see in me...especially if you're already seeing someone else who sounds...just so great." I held off on telling him that every time he and I would eat lunch together, I was ready to tell anyone who would ask who we were in relation to each other that we were in fact siblings. Because why else would Bobby talk to me?

He sighed, wrapped his arms around my waist, and gave me a big loving kiss on the mouth.

"Look," he said, with a soft, gentle directness in his voice. "I know what I look like, and I know what other people think I look like. I'm not blind. I know a lot of other people think I'm attractive. On a regular basis, I get...I guess you could call it sexual harassment. Last week, I had to arrest a woman because she grabbed my butt while I was walking my beat. I couldn't believe it-it'd be funny if she wasn't crying so much when I put her in the cruiser.

"I guess the point I'm trying to make here is I know what I am. And I know what you are. I've known you for, what, five months? And I know what you look like. And I'm not sexually attracted to you in spite what you look like-I'm sexually attracted to you BECAUSE of what you look like.  
And I didn't sleep with you out of any desperation to find a woman...I wanted YOU. You are exactly what I want.

"And I told Simon this." My heart jumped at these words.

"Y-you what?"

"I told Simon about you. Simon knows how I've felt about you for a while now."

As sick as it is, I suddenly felt like I had just won the fucking lottery.

"I love Simon too much to lie to him. He knows that there are so many things he can give me...and there are some things he just can't.

"But it's not just sexual," he quickly added. "It's also something much deeper, something...essentially...feminine...I'm sorry, I quite don't know how...how to say..."

"So, what do you want from me?" I touched his face. "Just name it."

"Love me, Emily. And let me love you."

I pressed my lips against his and groaned. My hands ran through his damp, silken hair, with my fingertips searching and stroking his scalp. Bobby slid his hands down my back, and clutched my ass, squeezing as he pulled my hips closer to his.

I felt desire, that miraculous yet familiar combination of crippling weakness and raging strength, pulverizing my nerves as his tongue probed my mouth and hands smoothed my skin. If I were, in fact, an exclusively sexual thing for Bobby, I would be absolutely fine with that arrangement.

Bobby's cock, pressed tightly against my belly as we embraced, began to throb and twitch with excitement. I could feel its pulses reverberate against my abdomen, as it grew back to fighting strength.

"I want you," he groaned, smacking my ass and splashing water against my back. "I want all of you."

I grabbed his member, now fully erect, lifted my hips, and pulled him into me. Wrapping my legs around his ass and holding onto the sides of the bathtub for leverage, I began to slowly grind onto him.

"Bobby...fuck me..."

He began to thrust against me as well, and the water around us slowly but heavily sloshed in a steady rhythm. He grunted and gasped, clutching my body tight to his.

"You're so tight," he moaned, "It's so tight inside your pussy..."

His words made the kindling between my legs begin to spark and smoke, and my hips moved faster and faster. Bobby, while keeping one arm around my waist, leaned me back, and his mouth traveled to my breasts, licking and biting the nipples. My gasps turned into shrieks as I began to reach the peak.

"Bobby-oh god-please let me come...please let me come...oh..."

He kissed my right nipple and looked me in the eye as my face crumpled into ecstasy.

"Come for me. Now."

I grabbed onto his back, dug my nails into his flesh, and bucked my hips wildly as the orgasm quickly throbbed in my brain. My high-pitched moans echoed throughout the bathroom. I must have looked and sounded like a goat getting electrocuted.

"Bobby-come inside me!"

"But-"

"I'm on birth control, goddamn it. COME INSIDE ME NOW."

And with that, he leaned back against the rear of the tub, pulling me on top of him. He grabbed my ass and squeezed with a ferocious dominance, and held me in place as he proceeded to rapidly fuck me. I could barely hear either Bobby's or my own moaning over the splash of the water, but I could rely on the tightness of his grip see to know how close he was to climax.

"Emily...Emily...oh god...you dirty girl...HERE!"

He stopped bucking. He just pulled my ass down, forcing all of his manhood inside me. I could feel his cock pulsing as he gushed cum inside. His breathing came in broken shudders. When his pulses of his ejaculating member reverberated deep inside my cunt, pleasure once more throbbed inside me, except this time, much harder. As if at once, I reached a second climax, arching my back and roaring like a tigress in heat. Once it had passed, I collapsed onto Bobby's chest and simply breathed, as he stroked my wet hair.

We were dressed now. Bobby sat in the living room section, and watched as I wrapped the leftovers of bacon sandwiches and apple cake and stuffed them into the fridge.

"You're not leaving, are you?" he asked.

"..."

"It's late. We could leave together in the morning. I could take you home if you'd like."

"I'm..." I started, not at all knowing how to finish. "I'm not sure how it would look."

"What do you mean?" He looked hurt.

"No no no!" I said, attempting damage control. "I didn't mean, like my roommates or anything...I just...Simon. What if he comes over here? Or we just happen to run into him?"

"I see."

"I want to talk to him first. I KNOW you talked to him...but...I want to talk to him, you know what I mean?"

Bobby smiled. "That's a terrific idea! We could all meet he-"

"Actually," I interrupted, "I'd like to talk to him alone." The prospect was both insane and terrifying-the possibility of having my eyes scratched out by a fierce queen or a pissed-off bear was very real. But Bobby's boyfriend deserved full disclosure. WITHOUT the possible influence of Bobby's whims.

Bobby pouted again. "Okay...you sure about that?"

"Absolutely. Call him tomorrow, and we'll arrange some sort of meeting." I put the last slice of apple cake in the freezer and closed the door. I then went to get my coat, but Bobby intercepted me.

"Stay the night. I won't take no for an answer."

"Bobby, I-"

"Simon won't hurt you. I promise. Now stay."

I stayed.

TO BE CONTINUED.


	6. Chapter 5

"Where were you last night? We had a rehearsal."

It was a little before 5am. I had tried to make a quiet entrance, but there he was in the living room. Tony. Looking all sorts of pissed off.

"You didn't call," I said.

"I shouldn't have to. You're not a child."

"Well, then don't act like you're my father," I grunted, walking towards my room. Tony began to follow me.

"You know we have a show tonight, right? Are you even going to be ready?"

"Of course I am-it's not like the fucking set list has changed or anything, has it?"

Tony didn't answer.

"Has it?" I repeated.

"No," he finally answered. I just stared at him for a moment, studying his expression. He was hiding something. Suddenly, it hit me like a lightning bolt. And it was made me release a sigh of disgust.

"What is this really about, Tony? And please don't tell me it's about the about the show tonight, or any other show in the future, or about the band in general, because that's a bunch of bullshit and you know it."

He shifted in place and licked his lips in agitation.

"Were you with the Pig?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Tony!"

"Were you?"

"What do you care? It has nothing to do with you!"

"I knew it. Fucking knew it," he blurted as he stomped away towards his room. Before he entered his room, he turned to me and said:

"I don't want the Pig coming around here and sniffing around for fucking truffles-otherwise you're out of the goddamn band and out of this apartment." Then he stormed into his room and slammed the door after him.

I just stood there speechless. Chills of shame and fear kept me frozen in place. I was too paralyzed to breathe, let alone cry.

The door to the bedroom that Natalie and I shared then slowly opened. She was wide awake. I could tell by the look on her face that she had heard everything. That made the dam break.

"Tony can be a real asshole sometimes," she whispered.

I laughed through my tears. Natalie never cursed. Never.

Well the DA was pumpin' my left hand  
And she was a-holdin' my right

Tony and I didn't speak about Bobby after the morning. In fact, we didn't really talk for the rest of the day. I guess all either one of us wanted to do was get through that night's set; we could work on being friends, or at least good roommates, later.

That night, it was to be the Avo Club on Sunset. It had no aspirations of being the next Rainbow Room, but any place that was neither a former strip club, nor in the process of becoming a Starbucks was fine in my book. Plus, it had actual sound equipment and a stage, as opposed to just a microphone tied to a mop, stuck through a bucket. Some bar gigs were interesting, to put it nicely.

Well I told her don't get scared

Our set was all but over-we were closing out with 'Long Cool Woman', like we always did. I fucking love that song. It's pretty twisted: a cop who arrests a bunch of (I think) bootleggers and killers, but spares a woman, who is otherwise guilty by association, simply because she makes his dick hard. Even though he completes his task and seems to embrace good, by grabbing this woman out of the chaos and taking her with him, he embraces his darkness.

I should have been enjoying the night more. The set went excellent. The crowd liked us. The owners of Avo, from what I could see in the back, seemed to love us. Even the rigidness between Tony and I began to dissipate once he realized that I wasn't going to sabotage the set. I should have been having a great time.

But I was fucking miserable. Right until the end.

'Cause you're gonna be spared

Right in the front, at a table by himself, sat my nightmare. Throughout the whole night, there he sat, just staring at me. Just staring. No applause. No reaction. Just a raven-haired, lanky, pale boy, with his piercing eyes fixed solely on me, critiquing my every move. And whatever juju he was doing, it worked. The whole room might have been loving us, but he and his laser-pinpoint gaze was enough to make me want to crawl

under the earth.

And he knew EXACTLY what he was doing.

I've gotta be forgivin' if I wanna spend my living

(Just don't look at him)

With a long cool woman in a black dress

(Song's almost done, you creep-go home and stare at your asshole in the mirror)

Just a 5'9 beautiful tall

(Thank you for ruining my night, you Robert Smith wannabe-cocksucker)

Yeah, with just one look I was a bad mess

(No. KIDDING.)

'Cause that long cool woman had it all...had it all...had it all...

Applause. Exit stage right.

I made sure to say a copious amount of 'thank you's to the audience and to Greg and Fahrid, the owners of Avo, before I dashed outside for a cigarette. I wasn't so much angry at that moment as I was terrified of what could have happened onstage. As I lit the cigarette and puffed, I considered all the things that could have gone wrong just because the creepy guy was intimidating me: I could have lost the fucking plot onstage. I could have stormed offstage. I could have just started crying in the middle of my set. I could have kicked him in the face and gotten arrested. That fucking asshole. He could have gotten me kicked out of the band and my apartment.

No. No, that's stupid. He wouldn't have done any of that. I would be responsible for that. But I'll be goddamned if he didn't fuck up my set. If I see him outside of the club, I'll kick his ass, I swear to Go

"Bobby smokes."

I was so engrossed in my own morbidity and anger, that I hadn't heard the footsteps following me. It was Edgar Allan Jackass. Up close, he was a little over six feet tall, but he still towered over me. He had removed that stupid black jacket with the stupid emblems to reveal a vest and white shirt covering a lean figure. What a fucking nerd. I could have smacked him then and there for following me, but by then the nicotine had rushed into my blood, slightly dissipating the anxiety and rage. Slightly.

"What?"

"Bobby smokes. I don't know if you knew that."

I wasn't really paying attention. I just wanted him to leave.

"I'm sorry," I said, through clenched teeth. "Who are you?"

"You really don't know?" He was amused with my reply. I wasn't with his. I finally lost my patience.

"No fucking clue, dude," I snapped, "Am I supposed to know? Are you a critic? What, a reporter? Because you guys don't usually sit in the front, getting in a fucking staring match with the lead singer! That's horseshit! Who the hell do you think you are anyway?"

"I'm Simon. Bobby must told you about me, right?"

I suddenly had the sensation of being inside an airplane that had just nosedived. Son a bitch. No wonder he was staring me down. I would too if I had first dibs on Bobby. The rage was suddenly replaced by a very real feeling of fear.

The concubine does not fuck with the wife.

I began to stammer and genuflect to him: "Hol...holy shit dude, I'm sorry. I had no idea...I'm so sorry..."

He appeared unmoved. "I apologize for...'staring you down' during your performance. I'm generally not a patron of nightclubs...I only came to meet you. I wanted to see what Bobby was...raving about."

A heavy silence hung in the air.

"I just want you to know," I chirped, "that I never had any intention of getting in the way of you or Bobby...it would kill me to think that I hurt somebody that Bobby really loved-"

Simon began to laugh. I smiled, feeling relieved.

"Ah, you have some brilliant self-confidence, don't you?"

Right in the gut. Son of a bitch.

"I would like to elucidate something for you, my darling," he continued, as I simply stared at him. "You are not a threat to me. Not in the slightest. I was here before you, and I will be here long after he...recovers."

Keep breathing, Emily. Do NOT kill yourself. At least call Bobby beforehand.

"I won't challenge what Bobby wants now, because I had my chance to walk out, and I didn't. At this point, that's my fault, not his. But you will not change any emotional dynamics, you understand? As far as Bobby is concerned...you're just his blowup doll."

And with that, he walked past me. I'm amazed the breeze he created didn't knock me down. The same feeling of shock and shame I had felt from Tony that morning was now amplified to the marrow of my bones. I couldn't breathe. My heart struggled to find the strength to pulsate. All I could was watch him walk away.

All I could do was watch him suddenly stop in his tracks.

All I could do is watch his turn around and look at me.

"Although," he said, "I do have to give Bobby credit." His eyes scanned me up and down. "You are very attractive...despite..."

"Despite what? My weight?" I was half-sarcastic, half-tired of his shit.

"Actually, no. I was going to say your age."

That was it. I let go.

"I'm only 22 years old, you awful, rude little shit! Now take your scrawny, Edward Scissorhands-lookin' ass, and your condescending, belligerent bullshit, and get the fuck out of my club scene!  
And if you EVER pull that sitting-in-the-front-row-trying-to-intimidate-me-crap again, I swear to Christ, I WILL kick your ass up and down Sunset!

"Do you understand me, Simon?"

A pause.

"I understand you perfectly." And with that, he turned and left.

I just watched him disappear down the street, the sweet air now filling my mouth and lungs. I threw my burned out cigarette into the street, and pulled another one out of the pack and lit it. I felt a tap on my shoulder. I thought for sure I was about to get a ticket for littering.

I turned around. It was Tony.

"Thanks for telling that guy off-did you see the way he was staring at us the whole set? What a fucking weirdo! Did you know him? Great set, by the way. Oh, when you're done, Greg and Fah-"

I just collapsed in his arms and cried. I was so tired.

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. Chapter 6

"We're...we're talking about Simon Blackquill, right?"

"Yes, Simon Blackquill! Tall, dark, pale...samurai aficionado...who else?"

Phoenix just gazed out the window. Except for the mellow amber glow of a streetlight, and fluorescent bulbs weakly shining through a couple windows, the street was dead. For a moment, it felt like my revelation had somehow wiped out nature itself. I felt like I had done something incredibly wrong, incredibly catastrophic, but I couldn't grasp why.

"I mean," I stammered, "You didn't know?...Mr. Wright, you had no idea that they were..."

Phoenix looked at me with parts disbelief and parts frustration.

"Emily...Simon hated Bobby."

"No, they loved each other. I swear."

"Well, I didn't see any of that between the two of them. At all."

I had to keep breathing. I shook my head. He just didn't get it, that's all. But I didn't know how to argue against what HE saw-I wasn't there. I had run for my life by the time they dragged Simon to the bench.

"In court," he continued, "He would do everything short of literally attacking Bobby! And when we finally vindica-"

"THAT WASN'T BOBBY! DON'T YOU GET IT? WEREN'T YOU THERE? THAT WASN'T BOBBY!"

Suddenly, the quiet became as solid as marble. I realized I had been yelling. I realized I was crying. The staff swung over the counter to see where the noise was coming from. It was time to go.

"I'm so sorry," I said, sliding out of the booth, and frantically digging cash out of my purse and tossing it on the table. "I have no right to scream at you. I know you're trying to help me. I just don't know how-"

He gently grabbed my wrist.

"Mrs. Fulbright...I deeply apologize. No one will ever know your husband more than you."

I nodded as my face crumpled. Phoenix quietly pulled his share out of his pocket, then guided me through that seemingly eternal walk through the restaurant, past the curious stares of the staff. God bless them, I hope I'm the worst they had to put up with that night.

Once we were outside, with a gasp, the tears flooded out. Phoenix caught me and held me as the sobs shook my body.

"I'm sorry I've cried so much-"

"PLEASE do not apologize-you're holding it together amazingly well, all things considered."

After what felt like forever, I breathed in said:

"Can we talk tomorrow at your office-if you're available?"

Phoenix looked surprised.

"Are you sure? I don't want to feel like I'm-"

"If anything I know can help Simon with his..."

I paused. I let go of Phoenix.

"Can you let Simon know I'm in town...and have him call me? You have my number, right? I'd call him myself, but..."

"I'll call him."

8888888888888888888888

"You have. One. Message. Today. Two. Forty-Seven. P.M.

"Emily, it's Bobby. It's...2:46 right now. Listen: please come over as soon as you get this. Don't even call me. Just come over. I need to talk to you. I'm so sorry about what Simon said to you, but I don't wanna...it's...

"Please come.

"End of messages."

The balls on this guy. Don't even call him-just come running to his apartment, like a loyal slave, who just remembered it's time to massage the master's taint. What a riot. Was Bobby so wonderful that I would just volunteer to jump right back into that cesspool of drama? Was he really THAT good?

I rang his doorbell no later than half past three.

His door quickly opened. Bobby was in his uniform. He must have just gotten off his shift. He looked panicked.

"I thought you wouldn't come," he said, pulling me in and carefully closing the door.

"Bobby, listen. I don't want to be the other-"

He pushed me against the wall and kissed me. At first, I put my hands on his back in an attempt to stop him, so I could just talk to him. But I decided against that, choosing instead to squeeze his ass and pull groin against me.

"You're not," he breathed in between kisses. "You're not just a mistress. You're a dirty girl, but you're MY dirty girl."

"Oh, Bobby...Take me-right here." And then he detached from me.

"No," he gasped. "It's...no time to explain. Just come with me."

He grabbed my arm and led me into the bedroom, throwing me onto the bed. He was panting with tension, looking at his watch.

"Baby, what's up?" He didn't appear to be listening, as he had now opened the closet, and was stacking boxes on top of each other and shoving things aside.

"Bobby?"

When he appeared satisfied with his work, he suddenly turned to me, took my hand, pulled me off the bed and towards the closet. I became scared.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Get in the closet and watch through the doors."

"...WHAT?"

He grabbed my face and kissed me again. Then he looked straight in my eyes.

"Just watch," he whispered. "Don't speak, don't make a sound, just watch. Please trust me."

I got in the goddamn closet. Bobby closed it. I watched through the blinds of the closet door as he frantically straightened the bed sheets, and then walked out of the bedroom. Shuffling footsteps and the clinking of dishes in the sink could be heard from the next room. I was still frightened.

_Watch what?_

A few minutes passed by, which were spent examining the inside of the closet. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see his clothes hanging above me. Besides a few extra uniforms, frayed jeans and starched shirts, I could see a collection of suits, their silken threads shimmering in the weak light coming from the blinds.

Slowly, I reached up to touch a wool blazer, only to have it slip off the hanger and onto my face. I silently gasped and froze, horrified that I might have broke my promise to Bobby not to make any noise. When a moment passed and there was no sign of retribution from Bobby, I finally relaxed and pulled the jacket off my face. I smoothed the soft woolen threads under my hands, and lifted it to my nose, breathing in. I could pick up the light remnants of Italian cologne and the stale musk of his sweat. The delusion of my infatuation made it sweeter than ambrosia. I held it close to me, gently stroking it as I became lost in thought.

_What am I doing,_ I screamed internally. _This is like the plot to a bad opera. Or maybe a half-decent porno, anyway. _

_Goddamn, Bobby. That voodoo you do_.

Knocks at the front door shook me out of my reverie. I clutched the blazer like a stolen treasure. I could hear footsteps clicking and the door opening.

"Is she here?"

_Oh fuck me_. It was Simon.

"No, Pussycat-of course she's not here. Why would she be here?"

There was pin-drop silence. Then I could hear Simon slowly walking in. The door closed and locked. The footsteps then progressed into the bedroom. I didn't dare peek out through the blinds yet.

"Bobby...I've been thinking and I need to...may I ask you something?"

I heard the metallic groans of bedsprings.

"Ask me anything."

"Are...are you tired of me?" I heard the deep hurt in his voice. The tears were bubbling in his throat. This was NOT the Simon I had met outside Avo. The Simon I met then was brimming with aggressive confidence and self-assurance. Now, I was hearing an entirely different man making his appeal to Bobby.

The bedsprings slowly and heavily creaked again.

"I'm not seeing Emily because I'm tired of you. I will never get tired of you."

_SEEING me? We're not just fucking?_

"But Bobby, I just can't help feeling like this is going to result in me being...pushed away."

I subtly glanced through the slits of the door, where I saw Simon on the bed with his head in his hands.

Bobby leaned over, wrapped his arms around him, and began to kiss his face.

"It...kills me...to think...that you...thought...I would...ever...push you away..."

Simon was frozen within his bitter melancholy, but Bobby was still persistent. As his mouth traveled across Simon's face and neck, his fingers gently ran through his raven hair. As Bobby's hands moved down Simon's body, stroking his chest and then thighs, the icy resistance slowly began to thaw. He turned to Bobby, kissing the crown of his golden hair, and slowly collapsing into his arms.

I was deeply ashamed by how aroused I became by watching them. And the shame made it worse. As I watched them, I found myself squeezing the blazer, rubbing it in my lap.

Bobby pushed Simon onto his back, and removed his handcuffs from his utility belt.

"Tell me you love me, Fool-bright."

"I love you, Pussycat...I adore you..."

I could hear the screwing and clicking of handcuffs being fitted, and the tinny metal sounds of the chains pulling against the brass bed frame.

"...and you're not going anywhere..."

_click_

"...my little manslut."

I could hear Simon groaning. Bobby grabbed Simon's legs and wrapped them around his hips, and stroked his chest.

"I love it when you talk dirty," Simon gasped, "it's so wrong, somehow..."

Bobby unbuckled his utility belt, then pulled it away from himself and let it carefully fall to the floor. He loosened his tie, slipping it off and throwing it behind him. He then slowly unbuttoned his shirt, letting it slip down his arms and back, revealing his muscles and smooth skin.

He flung the shirt at the closet. It landed with a loud clunk, his officer's badge bouncing off the wooden door, buckling it inwards slightly. My stomach tightened with terror. He did that on purpose.

_Watch or he'll fling the doors open and unlock Simon's handcuffs._

I found myself slowly rubbing the jacket on my thighs at the thought of Bobby doing that, the soft woven fabric caressing my skin.

Pulling Simon's boots off his legs and tossing them to the side, Bobby slowly began to undress Simon, while worshipping his body. He started by unbuttoning his shirt.

"You always dress so formally, Pussycat," Bobby purred while kissing Simon's chest, as new skin was revealed with each opened button. "Your fancy jacket, you always wear a starched shirt...a necktie...always so professional...and you always speak so eloquently..."

Simon's chest, now fully exposed, was covered in the wetness of Bobby's kisses and bites. Writhing and flexing with pleasure, Simon began to breathe faster and heavier, and craned his head forward to see everything that Bobby did with his mouth.

"You've created a very professional image," Bobby continued, his mouth at Simon's navel and his hands on his crotch. "You're not even a prosecutor yet and you've already out-refined all the professionals in this city. Everyone you meet ends up either impressed or terrified, which, I imagine, must be great for a lawyer."

Bobby unbuttoned Simon's pants.

"But I see right through you, Mr. Blackquill. I know what you really are."

_Zip_

"Underneath that suit...that refinement...that education...and that intimidation you dish out..."

He pulled out Simon's cock.

"...you're just a filthy cockslut. And I'm going to treat you as such."

One hand was busy unbuttoning and unzipping his own pants, the other wrapped around Simon's tool and began to pull it up and down. Bobby's mouth engulfed the head of the cock, and seemed to swallow it as he pushed his head towards Simon's groin.

"Oh God...Bobby..."

Writhing and gasping, Simon pulled against his handcuffs, instinctively attempting to reach towards Bobby. Meanwhile, Bobby, his mouth still working Simon's cock, slowly pulled Simon's trousers down, revealing his lean ivory legs, which were dusted with delicate silver hair. Bobby ran his hands down these limbs, then hoisted them over his shoulders and clutched Simon's ass, deep throating Simon with grunts and moans.

From what I could see, Bobby then moved his mouth from Simon's cock, down the taint, then burying his face in Simon's supple, firm ass. Simon then stopped his wriggling, and instead simply lay back submissively, trembling and sighing with pleasure. As he continued licking Simon's rim, Bobby reached down to his own rod, which was already beginning to stiffen, and slowly massaged his shaft.

_I hate Simon. I hate the fucker. Why am I enjoying this?_

I pressed my thighs together, in an attempt to stifle the tingling that was raging in my pussy. But as I squeezed them together, my hips moved despite myself, grinding and twisting.

_he'll never know_

I stuffed Bobby's blazer between my legs.

_he'll never know the difference_

Breathlessly, I continued grinding, using the soft blazer as resistance. The guilt and shame were both overpowering and intoxicating.

"Fucking...fucking take me," Simon cried, "Please fuck me..."

Suddenly, Bobby lifted his face from Simon's ass and pulled away from him. He reached over to the bedside table, yanked open the drawer, and pulled out what could only be a bottle of lubricant. He flicked open the cap, and squeezed some into the palm of his hand.

"You know what I should do?" Bobby asked, as he slathered his now-turgid penis with a layer of lubricant.

His gaze was fixed on Simon's eyes.

"What?" Simon asked impatiently.

"Film this and send it to the Bar Association...so they'll all know what a fucking whore you are!"

Bobby did not leave any room for Simon to reconsider. He thrust forward, plunging his cock deep inside Simon's ass. Simon responded with a sharp gasp, arching his back in reflex to the inevitable initial pain. Bobby grabbed onto the brass bed frame with both hands, hanging over Simon and slowly yet deliberately grinding his pelvis. His breathing became as heavy as Simon's.

"Would you do that? Would you really do that to me?" Simon whispered, seemingly just loud enough for me to hear

_as if he knew I was_

I stopped grinding for a moment.

_no it couldn't be Simon hates me_

"Does the prospect turn you on?" Bobby purred.

"It's enough to make me come," Simon hissed, "So help me, it makes me so hard...puts me on the brink..."

"You twisted bitch!"

Bobby's thrusts became revitalized, heavy and rhythmic, trying to bring Simon to climax, but not forcing the moment. His movement was deeper than it was fast, causing Simon to gasp each time Bobby rammed forward with his full and thick cock inside him. His ass seemed to move independently to the rest of his body, flexing and ramming quicker than his back, and slamming into Simon with the motions of a wave pulling in and out of the tide. Naturally, it became faster and faster, with pearls of sweat dripping down Bobby's body.

I realized that I was grinding into Bobby's blazer again, and that I was but a word, a sound...an idea away from my own climax.

The room was now filled with the crystalline screeches of bedsprings groaning and exhaling under the weight of fucking. The scent of sweat and hot breath was pouring through the grates of the closet door. The moment was ripe for orgasm.

_please finish please finish im so close i_

Bobby wrapped one hand around Simon's hard cock and began to stroke. He didn't stop thrusting.

"I love you, Pussycat. I really do."

_and there it i s not sure why but i wont question i t_

I pressed a fist to my mouth to keep from moaning out loud, as pleasure hatched from my brain, and spiderwebbed throughout my nervous system. Remaining stiff and letting the orgasm take its course, the only physical sensation was the pronounced throbbing and pulsating between my legs. I don't remember anything after that.

_Like a bad opera. Or a decent porno._

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
